


Ground Zero: A 9/11 Hetalia Fanfic

by Etagirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 9/11, Brotherly Love, Father-Son Relationship, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21766783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etagirl/pseuds/Etagirl
Summary: Hello all, I've seen various images and headcanons floating around the internet about America during the 9/11 attacks and how they affected him/how he reacted. These images and headcanons inspired me to write a H/C fanfic about it! That being said, I don't want to diminish the seriousness of this tragedy either. What happened was awful and never should've happened in the first place. Please don't forget that 9/11 is not just a plot device or fiction, it's something that really happened and that has affected a lot of people. Keep any and all comments respectful. Also please note that this topic may be triggering to some, so if it is something that bothers you then you may not want to read this story. Those that do read it, I hope you enjoy but as I said also don't forget that 9/11 was a real event and is not to be taken lightly. Thank you!
Kudos: 33





	Ground Zero: A 9/11 Hetalia Fanfic

The day it happened, Alfred was in New York City with his brother, Matt. It was supposed to be just a fun family outing, nothing out of the ordinary. America and Canada often hung out, taking turns going to each other’s places, as a way of keeping in touch. Today was no different. Or, at least, it wasn’t supposed to be.  
Alfred and Matthew were checking out one of the underground malls, looking at various odds and ends, chatting and laughing.  
“Heh, hey, look at this one!” America ran over to one of the clothing racks.  
The blond took out a t-shirt with “I Heart NYC” printed on it. He held it up in front of himself and grinned childishly.  
“Heh, it’s, um, very you,” was Matthew’s reply. “Hey, uh, do you want to go grab a bite to eat?”  
“Do you even have to ask?” Alfred said, paying for the t-shirt.  
“Thank you, have a nice day!” the cashier waved as the two brothers left.  
They both carried small paper bags full of the souvenirs and other stuff they’d bought. Matt would think that his brother would eventually get sick of coming to NYC and owned all its souvenirs by now, but apparently he was wrong.  
Alfred walked with a bounce in his step, “Where do you wanna go to eat? I know this great burger place!”  
“Haha, again?” Matt chuckled, gazing warmly at America.  
He really was just like a big child. Canada could not help but smile at America’s jovial, youthful, behavior. He himself was the younger brother but Matthew felt that, ironically, he was the calmer, more mature sibling. America did indeed get on his nerves at times, and tested his saintlike patience. There were times where Alfred would playfully (or even not so playfully) rib and tease Canada, but the maple syrup-loving young man gave almost as good as he got from him. Despite their occasional disagreements, the two truly did love each other dearly. Canada could not imagine life without America.  
“Hmm, I’m getting a bit tired of hamburgers. How about we go someplace else for a change? Maybe a pizza place?” Matt suggested.  
“Getting tired of hamburgers? How could anybody ever get tired of-” Alfred stopped in his tracks.  
“...Al?” Matthew continued walking but stopped and turned around once he noticed his brother no longer following him.  
What he saw next scared the hell out of him.  
America just stood there, frozen, looking like a deer in the headlights. His face was pale and the blonde was trembling. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on his face, and he clutched his chest.  
“A- Alfred?”  
“I- I don’t feel so...” suddenly Alfred fell to his hands and knees, coughing up blood.  
“Al, what’s wrong?!” Matthew ran to his brother’s side, kneeling beside him.  
He rubbed his brother’s back as the poor nation continued coughing up blood and clutching at his chest, all while gasping for air.  
“What’s hap-”  
But before Canada could finish his sentence, a wave of screams and panic cut him off. People started stampeding, knocking each other over in their frantic desire to get out of there. Some began crying, others just stood there, stunned.  
“J-Just wait here!” Matthew yelled above the chaos. “I’m gonna find out what’s going on!” He dashed up the underground mall stairs, to the outside.  
Canada’s heart pounded in his chest, he had a sinking feeling he knew what was going on. Nations rarely ever just get sick, there’s almost always a reason. Something bad must’ve been going down somewhere in the country, something that was harming his brother’s body! Soon enough, Matt found his answer.  
The situation was even worse above ground. Mass hysteria ensued as people cried and screamed and ran in all directions. Some were running towards a large column of smoke Matt saw rising off in the distance. Others were running away from it.  
“N-no…!” Matt gasped, tears welling up in his own eyes.  
The sight before him looked like something straight out of one of those disaster films Alfred liked so much. Only, this one wasn’t a movie. The World Trade Center… it was burning. Fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars went zipping past, towards the crumbling tower. In an instant, before he could even react, another plane flew straight into the southern tower. An explosion that seemed to shake the ground. More fire.  
“Alfred!” Matthew cried, running back downstairs to help his brother. Tears were streaming down his face.  
He found his brother in even worse condition than before; this time he was lying on his side, coughing up more blood and getting paler by the second.  
The poor country writhed in pain, his voice strained, “M-Matt… wha- what’s…?”  
“Shh!” Canada hushed him. He tearfully picked his brother up and carried him outside.   
Despite his somewhat frail appearance, Canada was actually just as strong as America. They were brothers, after all. Speaking of which, he desperately wished he could protect his older brother from the horror he’d just witnessed, but he knew it was something he had to see. America deserved to know what was happening to his body, to his country. Canada gingerly set him down in a relatively quiet area, across from the towers. The look of sheer confusion and terror on the latter nation’s face felt like a stab in the heart to Canada.   
Weakly, he muttered, “A-ah, so that’s why…” but before he could finish Alfred was seized by another violent coughing fit.  
“I-I’m so sorry!” was all Matthew could think to say.   
He hated being so helpless. What could he do? Maybe France…? Or, no, England…? Perhaps they would know what to do. Hands shaking, Canada called them both on his cell phone.  
“ ‘ello,this is England speaking. Canada? Why are you calling?”  
“Is that how you greet your beloved little brother?” France scolded. “No wonder America left you!”  
“Sh-shut up!” England shouted, face turning red on the other side of the line. “What do you know?!”  
“G-guys, um, please…” Canada quietly pleaded with them to stop arguing.  
In the background, chaos continued, and Matt could hear his brother wheezing and struggling to breathe.  
“Tsk, I know more than you do, pirate punk!” France retorted.  
“Why you little-”  
“Guys, please!” Canada shouted.  
Both men fell silent. Whatever the reason he called them, if Canada was shouting, it had to be urgent.  
“...Y- yes?” Britain said. “Matthew, what’s wrong? It’s very unlike you to yell…”  
Matthew blushed at his sudden outburst, “S-sorry, it’s just… it’s… it’s America! He’s badly hurt!”  
“What?!” Both France and England yelled in unison.  
Canada’s voice trembled. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes again, the tightening of his throat. At last, he could hold back the rising tide of fear no longer. He was so terrified.  
He started bawling, “A-Alfred! S-something’s happened! He’s.. he’s… oh god, he’s coughing up blood and- and- and I don’t know what to do! P- Please! Please help!” he sobbed into the receiver.  
“...I’ll be right over,” the Briton said with his characteristic calmness before promptly hanging up.  
“M-me too!” France also hung up.  
Matthew’s arm went limp as he lowered his head, a shadow cast over his eyes.  
“M-Mattie…” Alfred croaked weakly.  
America was no longer coughing up blood. He was just lying there shaking, white as a sheet and drenched in his own sweat. Canada knew it must be really painful, if America was even calling him ‘Mattie’ now. Alfred hadn’t done that since they were both still little kids.  
“A-Al…” Matthew crawled over to his brother, squeezing his hand. “Hang in there… Arthur and Francis are coming.”  
America squeezed his eyes shut in pain, “M-make it stop… please. Make the pain stop…”   
“H- hang in there, just... relax! Everything’s gonna be okay…” Canada stroked his brother’s hair, trying to reassure him.   
In truth, he did not know if everything would turn out alright. But Matthew couldn’t tell his brother that. He had to be strong for him.  
Alfred had never felt pain this intense before, and that was saying something considering the number of battles he’d been in. He hated feeling so vulnerable and useless. His people were suffering. They were dying all around him. Why couldn’t he do anything to save them? The blonde couldn’t even find the strength to move his head. His head hurt, everything hurt. His throat and chest hurt and his limbs felt like lead.  
“C- cold…” he muttered weakly.  
“Hmm? Oh, sorry!” Canada took off his jacket and draped it over America like a blanket. The latter did not know what he was apologizing for.  
It was already September but it wasn’t that cold. Matthew knew that he could handle cold a bit better than Alfred could, since he lived a little further north than him and was more accustomed to it, but… This was bad. It couldn’t just be the cold making him shiver.  
He might be going into shock. Matthew thought to himself. I need to keep him warm! If only England and France were here… What’s taking them so long?  
As though answering his prayers, both men appeared at exactly the same time.  
England ran over, apologizing, “Sorry, I had a hard time getting here since all flights to the United States were cancelled! I had to resort to taking my own private jet. Nearly got gunned down on the way over, too. What’s going on? Why is American airspace suddenly off limits? Why are they shooting at any and all foreign aircraft?”  
“Sacre bleu! America, what ‘appened to you?!” France ran over to the young nation lying on the ground, visibly upset.  
“B-bloody hell!” England shrieked when he laid eyes on America.  
Taking notice of Alfred’s condition for the first time, the Brit felt his heart almost stop.  
“Ze is in very bad condition…” France said, lending his own capelet to Alfred to help keep him warm.  
Despite his usual ‘stiff upper lip’ mentality, England could not help but start to cry, “N-no…” He clapped a hand over his mouth.  
Where was that smiling little boy that he once knew, the one without a care in the world? Where was that cheeky young adult who always made fun of him and his cooking? The one who acted so independent and never needed anybody’s help? Where was he now?  
“I-Iggy…?” Alfred said in a small voice, barely above that of a whisper.  
America could not see too well although he had his glasses on. His vision was clouded, and he felt extremely lethargic… he just wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. To escape the pain. Was the British man in front of him just a hopeful hallucination? Maybe it was just a phantom of his pain-addled mind, conjuring the image of somebody he once thought of as father? Someone he once ran to for comfort, so very long ago…?  
“Idiot!” Arthur weakly slapped him. “W- what did you do this time? How did you manage to get yourself into this mess?” Anger was the country’s self-defense mechanism.  
So it’s not a hallucination… Is he crying? I guess he really does care, underneath that gruff exterior. Alfred laughed to himself inside his head.  
It made him happy to see that the crabby old man really did care for him after all. Sometimes, America wondered if perhaps England hated him after how he’d rebelled against him during the Revolutionary War. These warm feelings of being loved brought him a little comfort and distracted him from the pain. He smiled, reaching up towards the blond-haired gentleman’s tear-streaked face, though it took him much effort to do so.  
Sadly, this brief respite wouldn’t last. With a thunderous, ear-splitting sound, the twin towers finally collapsed. The grating noise it made reminded all of them of a great beast’s wail. The noise a large animal made in its death throes. It etched itself into all four men’s heads.  
Alfred convulsed, clutching his chest and contorting his body in unnatural ways.  
“Ah- ahhhhh!” he howled, coughing up more blood.  
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, pain shot through America’s body like a raging fire. Try as he might, he could not contain his agony.  
“America!” Britain cradled his beloved son in his arms. It was all he could do to ease his suffering.  
France looked on silently, both horrified and greatly saddened at the sight of his other son in such a dismal state.  
“Isn’t there anything we can do?!” Canada wiped his eyes.  
“Non, I’m afraid. No medicine can treat ‘is wounds. There is nothing we can do but ride it out and make ‘im as comfortable as possible. With luck, this will all end soon…”  
“Kchhh!” Alfred hissed between clenched teeth. “I-Iggy… h-help!”  
“Shh shh shh,” England slowly rocked him back and forth. “Just… close your eyes… Don’t try to move.”  
He didn’t need to tell him twice; as the pain that wracked his body slowly subsided, Alfred’s eyelids were growing heavier and heavier. He still felt cold but was too weak to even fully tremble, instead occasionally shuddering.  
“Let’s at least get him inside,” Matthew said. “Some place warm, with a proper bed.”  
The other two nations nodded their heads in agreement. Matt could have probably carried America himself, but it seemed like England really wanted to carry him, so the Canadian did not object when the older gentleman stood up, holding the motionless America in his arms. Unfortunately, England was not as strong as the two younger nations, and required France’s help to move him.

\-------

It took some time, but the three managed to find an empty hotel a little ways away from the scene of the attack. They should be safe here, they thought.  
Matt felt a bit bad about using the hotel room without paying but, well, it was an emergency. They tried to make America as comfortable as possible. They removed his blood-stained, wet, clothing and replaced them with some pajamas that they borrowed from the souvenir shop. Matthew took off Alfred’s glasses and placed them gingerly on the bedside table while both England and France carefully set the blond-haired boy down on the bed and tucked him in. Were it not for the dire situation, Britain would have kinda enjoyed it. Tucking Alfred in almost reminded him of when the nation was little, when he used to tuck him in at night and read him a bedtime story.  
“Is that okay? How do you feel?” France asked.  
“Mmnnh,” Alfred moaned.  
“Uhh, I’ll take that as a yes.”  
Arthur wrung his hands nervously, “Do you need anything? I know medicine won’t work but…”  
“W-water…” Alfred croaked, his voice barely audible.  
“What did he say?” England asked, looking at France.  
“ ‘e said he wants water. Mon dieu, you need to get your ears checked! I’m older than you and yet even I was able to hear him!”  
“Shut up!” England hissed while lowering his voice. He didn’t want to disturb their patient.  
The Brit ran off to fetch a glass of water.  
“Al…? You still with us?” Canada asked tentatively.  
The blond-haired man could only silently nod. It was a wonder he was still conscious.  
“Here you are,” England said, returning.  
But before Alfred could accept said glass of water, once again he suddenly convulsed, eyes bloodshot and wide in pain.  
“Hnn-!”  
“...! America!” Britain shouted.  
“Al!”  
Poor America twitched for a minute or two before his eyes finally rolled back and he fainted.  
“Alfred!” France rushed over to take his pulse. “No…! His ‘eartbeat… it is very sporadic and weak!”  
“B- big brother!” Matthew cried, burying his face into America’s chest. “You can’t die like this, don’t leave me all alone!”  
But there was nothing any of them could do except maybe pray. All they could do was keep an eye on the bedridden nation and hope for the best.

\- - - -- - 

A few hours later, France had the TV turned on and it was showing news reports and live footage of the planes crashing into the towers.  
Canada not once left his brother’s side, sitting in a chair beside his bed. Meanwhile England paced nervously and, once or twice, went into the bathroom to cry, away from France and Canada and anybody else who could possibly see him. Then, finally, finally, his eyelids fluttered and America turned his head.  
“H-he’s awake!” Canada shouted.  
The other two quickly came running. A bit of color returned to America’s face and his breathing and pulse grew steadier. Slowly, his eyelids opened and his beautiful blue eyes, at first hazy and unfocused, looked on the three men standing before him.  
“Wh-where…?” America tried to sit up.  
“H-hey! Take it easy!” Canada forced him to lay back down.   
Not that Alfred had the strength to resist, anyway.  
France spoke up, “We are in a hotel, mon cher. What do you remember?”  
“I…” Alfred thought about it, his mind still clouded. “I remember… pain. Convulsing. Matthew carried me outside. The Twin Towers burning… Wait, the Twin Towers!”  
Once again, against his better judgement, Alfred tried to get up only to be forced back down. This time not by his brother, but by a jolt of pain that caused him to yelp and momentarily lose control, falling back down.  
“Al, what did I say?”  
“I’m… so sorry, America…” England hung his head, unsure of what else to say.  
Nothing he could do or say would make this situation any better. Nothing he could do would make it right.  
“I…” tears filled Alfred’s eyes.   
He hated crying in front of others, but right now he was in too much pain and too overwhelmed to suppress it.  
“Shh, it’s alright,” England cooed. He walked over to where the blond-haired man lay and squeezed his hand. “Just… take it easy, alright? Take it slow. You’re still recovering.”  
He was helpless and scared, and he felt like a little kid again. He hated it, it made him feel pathetic.  
Matthew gently smiled, “Hey, it’s alright. You’re alive, that’s all that matters.” He hugged him.  
“Oui, Matt is right. There will be plenty of time for mourning and fretting later. You just rest for now. Do not worry about your people, like you they are strong.”  
“I… a-alright…” America sighed and resigned, shutting his eyes.  
Without really intending to, America fell asleep. The three other nations breathed a collective sigh of relief upon hearing his soft, rhythmic, snoring.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not continue this fanfic, so please let me know if it is something you would like me to continue! I'm not really sure what else to add, but if it gets popular enough I may consider adding another chapter. Thank you for reading.


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